


Dear Roselight

by Rowena_Bensel



Series: Liberty and Light [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Pregnancy, Inspired By "Dear Theodosia" from Hamilton, M/M, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Transformer Sparklings, shadowplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowena_Bensel/pseuds/Rowena_Bensel
Summary: "...But I will do my best, for both you and Cybertron. I will find a way to end this war, and do everything I can to have you grow up knowing peace.”This was not a wish. It was a vow, a promise.
Relationships: Megatron/Orion Pax, Optimus Prime & Original Female Character(s), Optimus Prime/Original Female Character(s), Orion Pax & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Liberty and Light [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061873
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Dear Roselight

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic of 2021, yay!!! I've been working on this fic for a while, and honestly I'm most glad to be able to write a fic with the title "Dear Roselight", cause basically since I came up with her, I've had the mental image of OP singing "Dear Theodosia" to her. Let me know what you think!

Optimus Prime was not built for warm, tender moments. 

He was the Council's answer to Megatron, the Prime of Cybertron with all the duties that fell with it. Duty he always put first, before just about anything else. Only when he was with Nightingale did he ever put it aside, and even then it had taken a lot of effort on her part to convince him to. 

But now, looking down at the sparkling sleeping peacefully in the cradle next to Nightingale's medical berth, he could almost reach that tenderness. Her creation was an accident - war was no time to raise a sparkling - but neither wished to terminate, and with Ratchet's help they managed to maintain a healthy carrying cycle, and now carrier and newspark were resting peacefully, while Optimus stood guard over the crib.

The sparkling was actually a bit large for her frame, a seeker like her carrier, but Ratchet assured them it was fine, and just meant she took on some more of Optimus’s coding in that regard. She’d also gotten the code for his helm, with little nubs where finals and antennae would grow in, and his bright blue telescopic optics and spark. Her protoform was silver, and time would tell whether her armor would grown in closer to his or Nightingale’s colors, as well as if she had inherited her carrier’s medical servos. 

His mind wandered back to the first time he had ever felt those servos on his frame, just after his ascension to be Prime…

_He came out of the stasis with his processor quite dazed. He tried to sort out what was blurry and what was clear. His name was Optimus Prime. He had been an archivist in the Hall of Records, until he proved himself worthy and was chosen as successor to Sentinel Prime. His enemy was Megatron, gladiator turned rebel leader of the Decepticons. And there was someone touching his chassis._

_He opened his optics, and his HUD filled up with alerts that he dismissed without really reading them. He found a white seeker femme standing over him, her servo on his chassis as she adjusted a sensor there. Her gaze was on her wrist scanner, but when she looked up from it, her optics were soft bright blue._

_“Good evening. We were expecting you to be in stasis for another couple joors. You must be adapting to the frame change better than most,” she said._

_Yes, his frame change. While he had been large for an archivist, it was not a suitable frame for a Prime, especially one who would be leading on the battlefield, as the odds of inevitable conflict with the Decepticons grew by the day._

_“I’m Nightingale, the medic assigned to your recovery period,” the femme continued. “I work with your friend Ratchet sometimes. How are you feeling?”_

_“Heavy. And hazy.” Yes, Ratchet. His oldest and closest friend, who couldn’t perform the procedure himself, as he had emergency patients at Greater Iacon General Hospital he couldn’t be pulled away from._

_“That’s not surprising,” Nightingale said, folding up her scanner. “You’re in a larger and stronger frame than you are used to. It will take a little bit for your processor to sort out the new sensory information.” She had kept her servo on his chassis, but now drew it towards his arm. “And quite a handsome frame it is too. I can’t wait to see what your aesthetician has in mind for your new paint.”_

_“Red, and blue.” Optimus would not accept any other colors. Those were the colors Megatron would recognize, and as such would know Optimus was his enemy._

_His optics blinked a few times, as he started to feel tired again._

_“How dashing.” Nightingale had smiled down at him. “You get some more rest, and I’ll be here when you wake up in the morning.”_

_That had seemed like a good idea, so he did as she said. And she had been there, as she said._

“Optimus.”

Optimus looked up to see Ratchet had returned to the room, a datapad in servo. “Would you like her first exam results?”

Optimus nodded. “Yes, thank you Ratchet.”

“She’s a perfectly healthy little femme,” Ratchet read off. “A strong frame, an appropriate amount of nanites in her systems. Bigger than average for her frame type, but that gives her an advantage at this age. There is something of interest, however. I’d normally brush it off, but with you as her sire…”

Optimus’s optics narrowed. “What is it?”

“Nothing bad, I promise,” Ratchet waved him down. “It’s just that her spark has a very similar frequency and brightness to yours, more than usual. As well, you both have the same optics, down to the tint. You know I don’t subscribe to most religious superstitions, but given you are her sire, they could be seen as Signs of Affinity.”

Optimus’s optic brows rose slightly as he looked down at the sparkling. “Are you sure of it?”

“I’m not sure of any of this mystic stuff, but you _are_ the one who’s supposed to have Primus’s most holy symbol locked behind your chestplates-” Optimus glared at the reminder of his greatest failure as the Prime “-so if you announced your sparkling was showing the Signs, the devout will all believe it. But it could also put her in danger if some neutral zealots tried to take her or if Megatron decides to eliminate the helpless back up Prime.”

“He’ll try to eliminate her anyway, just because she’s mine,” Optimus pointed out. “Just list her spark as ordinary brightness, the rest can be easily explained as being my sparkling, and she’ll be as safe as she can be.”

Ratchet nodded, then looked down at the sparkling himself. “You can hold her, you know. There’s no one where to maintain your distant Prime persona for.”

“You never know where Soundwave’s spies could be,” he deflected, though it was weak to his own audials. If he picked her up, it would just be an opening for-

Ratchet snorted. “If one of Soundwave’s minions could get back here, we would all already be dead. Don’t be a shorted sparkplug and hold your sparkling.”

He had a point, and so with some reluctance, Optimus leaned down and picked up the silvercloth-wrapped sparkling. She stirred just slightly, enough to exvent a tiny yawn before settling down again, as exhausted as her carrier.

His daughter. A sparkling with the Signs of Affinity. Only time would tell if she could reawaken Well exits, or snap photonic crystals with her presence, but he was already certain it would be true. His own daughter would be his successor to the Primacy, maybe even succeed where he had failed. 

He only _just_ kept a frown off his face as he remembered…

 _A vorn had passed since his ascension to the Primacy. The War was gearing up, but there was still time to search, so in his spare moments, that was all Optimus did. But, once again, he had hit a dead end, and he needed to head to Polyhex the next day, to help with the fighting there. So, there he had been, standing over a table of datapad ranging from only a few vorn old, to some scarce pre-Age of Wrath files, looking for any hints in the legends as to where the Matrix of Leadership - not the bauble the Council had been passing down for years, but the_ true _Matrix - was hidden away. Already two pads were shattered on the floor as his temper got the better of him._

_“You won’t find it,” Alpha Trion said, coming into the private study room. It had been locked, but the Head Archivist could enter any room in the Hall of Records whenever he wanted._

_“And what makes you so certain of that, old mech?” Optimus had asked, venom in his voice. Once, he had respected the older mech, but since his ascension, they had gone from as close as creator and creation to a deep mutual disdain. “That magic book of yours?”_

_“Primus grants the Matrix to the worthy, and like your predecessors, while you carry the title of Prime, you are not a true one.”_

_Optimus turned, optics narrowed. “You believed I was worthy once.”_

_“_ Orion _was worthy._ You _are an aberration that never should have existed, created by mecha whose avarice and treachery ran deeper than I had expected.”_

_“Orion was weak willed and compromising,” Optimus said. “He would not have the strength to meet Megatron in battle, or to do what is necessary to defeat the Decepticons and end this War.”_

_“He would have prevented this War from even starting, with diplomacy and reason.”_

_“You mean with his valve and his spark. Just open his legs and chest to Megatron and maybe the Decepticons would fall in line.” Optimus scoffed and turned back to the table, picking up a datapad. “If we’re just going to have the same argument every time we meet, we might as well not meet at all. Get out, old mech, on orders of your Prime.”_

_“Very well.” Optimus heard Alpha start to leave, then he stopped. “But you are not, and never will be, my Prime, for you are not one of my brothers, and you are not Orion.”_

_Optimus whirled around and threw the datapad, but Alpha Trion was already out the door, and it shattered on the closing metal._

A sharp pain in his processor jolted him out of the memory, and he reached a servo for his helm. Ratchet had the sparkling in his own arms in an instant, and Optimus closed his optics as the pain washed over him, like drowning in an oil bath. Of course, the memory and the sparkling, they were enough to bring _him_ out. Optimus growled as he slipped under the surface. He would be back soon, but he loathed any time handed over to his other…

… Orion invented sharply, deeply, cycling new air to replace old as he dropped into the chair by the berth. His helm rested in his servos as he settled into his frame, optics wide and looking over himself for new marks or scars. No matter how long it had been, it was always a slight shock to wake up into a warrior’s frame instead of an archivist’s. 

He looked up at Ratchet, who offered him a wane smile. “Welcome back, Orion.”

“How long was it this time?” Orion asked.

“About three groon. Congratulations, you’re a sire.” Ratchet held the sparkling out, and, gingerly, Orion took her from him. 

He had known he was to be a sire. Interface was the only time he and _the other mech_ could cohabitate, so he’d been there for the conception, and he had woken once before during the gestation. But it was another thing entirely to be holding her, in his arms, and feeling the swell of love in his spark for his creation. Yet as he stared down at her sleeping silver face, he could only voice one thought.

"You should have been his."

Immediately, guilt filled his spark and he drew the sparkling close. No. No, he wouldn’t trade her, no matter how she was created or who her carrier was. She was his sparkling, and he would love her, and not obsess over dreams that couldn’t be. No matter the twinge in his spark. 

Ratchet placed an understanding servo on his shoulder. “In a just world, she would be, but Primus makes playthings of us all.”

Orion looked up at his oldest friend. “Has there been any luck in the search?”

Ratchet shook his helm. “Jazz followed his lead down to the Dead End, but he got called for a mission in Spec Ops. By the time he got back to it, it was long cold. That was our last one.”

Orion sighed and slumped in his seat. He’d hoped to catch up to that mnemosurgeon by now, but Trepan was slipperier than an oiled Quintesson, and twice as nasty. It had taken vorn after Orion first clawed his way back to the surface of his processor to figure out who the Council had enlisted to perform the Shadowplay on him, and by then Trepan had been through a dozen transfers to hospitals and clinics and private clients outside Iacon. They suspected the Council’s doing, though whether to cover their own afts, or because they feared Orion’s possible return was unclear. 

Had the procedure been an ordinary one, Orion would have put himself under the needles of an Autobot mnemosurgon, thoroughly vetted by Ratchet and Jazz, vorns ago. But what had happened to him, the way his code had fractured in two instead of bending into a new shape, meant only the surgeon who performed the operation could have a chance at undoing it. And now that option was forever gone. 

“We are not giving up, Orion,” Ratchet said vehemently, squeezing Orion’s shoulder. “We’re working to figure out more triggers to bring you out more often. The sparkling should help, since it seems _Optimus_ is allergic to tender moments.”

“Perhaps,” Orion said, though the hint of a smile cross his lips. Yes, _the other mech_ had been built for war, and war wasn’t tender or soft. Orion looked forward to the moments he would share with the sparkling.

“Have you decided on a name?”

Orion shook his helm. Nightingale only requested part of the name relate to an organic plant she was fond of, and the few times he was out, he’d never given it much thought. The other never did, and probably just expecting Nightingale or Ratchet to come up with something. There had been another time where he had considered sparkling names, long ago. 

_“What would you name our sparklings?”_

_Orion had been draped against Megatron’s chest after a particularly intense interface session, which had actually ended with him doing the spiking for once, and his servo traced nonsense patterns over his love’s spark chamber. Those factors had likely helped bring the topic up, as well as the fact they had seen a pair of femmes with the most adorable sparkling on their walk earlier._

_Megatron had been petting Orion’s helm, but stopped with the sudden question, and when Orion looked up, he saw a rare look of shock on his gladiator’s face._

_“You would consider having sparklings with me?” Disbelief filled his voice, which Orion was quick to push away._

_“Of course! We’re mates in all but name and bond already, and once we’ve gotten Cybertron to a point that we aren’t rushing around fixing a new or old problem very orn, I would love some sparklings to share that world with. I have no preference on which of us carries, though depending which of us they take more after, you might have the easier time of it, but I want that. Sparklings with your silver and purple and maybe some of my blue or red. Red optics and my helm, or blue optics and your flight frame, or-”_

_He’d been cut off as Megatron kissed him, long and sweet and tender, so that Orion melted under it. When they separated, Megatron smiled. “I might have a few ideas.”_

_“Well?” Orion prodded, smiling back._

_“Libertas, for a little mech.”_

_“The Primal Vernacular for ‘freedom’. I can see why you would choose it. And for a femme?”_

_“I’ve always been partial to Morningstar.” Megatron had laughed as Orion smacked him on the chest._

_“We are not naming our sparklings after your favorite weapons!_

_“Well, what would you pick?”_

_Orion had to think a moment. “Skylight. That’s what I’d name a femme.”_

_Megatron gave him a look. “Isn’t that the name of the seeker medic on that vid series you love so much?”_

_“...Maybe. But I’ve liked the name much longer than that. Stop laughing!” He had smacked Megatron’s chest again, and his mate wrapped his arms around him to pin him closer._

_“Alright, alright, I’ll believe you. Skylight.” Megatron smiled. “It is a beautiful name. I like it.”_

_“So we’re decided? Libertas for a mech, Skylight for a femme.”_

_“We’re decided.” They sealed the decision with a kiss, then Megatron smirked. “Would you like to practice making those sparklings?”_

_Orion’s response had been to straddle Megatron’s lap._

Orion had often wondered what would have happened if they’d created a sparkling before the Council meeting. Would the outcome change, or would Megatron still leave while Orion was dragged away? Would their sparkling have been forced to pick a side by now, or been raised on propaganda hating their other creator, or would they have been all together? He didn’t have an answer, and he never would. 

It was too late for regrets, all he could do was move forward. And the next step forward was naming his daughter. He wouldn’t use the name he shared with Megatron, but maybe a part of it…

“Roselight. Her name is Roselight.”

Ratchet nodded and typed the name into the datapad he was still carrying. “It’s a good name, Orion. I’ll go ahead and enter this to the database and give you some family time.” He squeezed Orion’s shoulder once more, then left the room.

Orion looked down at Roselight, and it was like her name had opened the floodgates of his spark, for his optics quickly welled with lubricant, and he leaned down to press a light kiss to her forehelm. 

“You’ve been born into a cruel world, Little Rose. Your sire is not often himself, and will be away most of the time. When I am here, I don’t know how good of one I will be, when I had no sire to instruct me on how to do it. But I will do my best, for both you and Cybertron. I will find a way to end this war, and do everything I can to have you grow up knowing peace.”

This was not a wish. It was a vow, a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> So what'd you think? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> I have a discord, so come join us if you like my writing or Transformers or both! https://discord.gg/uRYVmM62qA


End file.
